Musket Shots
by Enigma TM
Summary: A random collection of one-shots focusing on our favourite band of brothers. Prompts are welcome. (Chapter 4: The Musketeers are held hostage by bandits but that is not the biggest worry for Aramis.)
1. Granted Wishes

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Porthos complains that Aramis is granted all those wishes he shouldn't have asked for. Athos and d'Artagnan tend to agree.**

 **A/N: So this 900+ word dialogue-only fic is basically a product of my boredom. The words for my other story won't come and the blank page of my notebook was mocking me. This is the first in my collection of one-shots and there's definitely going to be more. You are welcome to leave me any prompts. No guarantees but I will try my best to make a story out of them.**

 **WARNINGS: Some curse words here and there.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'The Musketeers' or any of its characters.**

 **English is not my first language and this work has not been beta read. So proceed at your own risk.**

 **~OoO~**

 **1\. Granted Wishes.**

"I'm bored. This journey is turning out to be s-"

"Aramis, watch out!"

"Wha-? Haha, you missed, Athos! Thanks, d'Artagnan."

"What the bloody 'ell was that for?"

"A pact."

"A pact?"

"Yes, Porthos, a pact. Aramis here agreed with me if he ever happens to express his displeasure regarding the monotony of a mission, I shall be rightfully obliged to punch him so hard, he begs to be kicked."

"Well, I merely requested you to remind me of that moment. You decided to add your own improvised conditions."

"To which you never raised any objection. In fact, you conceded that my method works too."

"Wait a minute, when did the two of you negotiate such a 'pact'?"

"In the tunnels under the convent, moments before Treville, Porthos and you made your grand entrance along with the Garrison's non-soldiering staff."

"Hey, don't blame me, Aramis. It was the Captain's idea."

"Which worked pretty well. So be grateful it saved yer bloody arses instead of ribbing the poor whelp."

"I am a fully commissioned Musketeer now, so for Christ's sake, stop calling me that."

"Na, ya'll always be our baby brother with those big puppy eyes, won't he 'Mis?"

"Absolutely!"

"Without question."

"Not you too, Athos!"

* _BANG!_

" _Mierda!_ Aaahhh-"

* _THUD!_

"Aramis!"

"Death to the King and his minions!"

"D'Artagnan, get down and check on him. Porthos and I will deal with the others."

"Bloody 'ell! Why does his God grant him all those wishes that He shouldn't?."

"Maybe, next time we should just gag him when we are out on missions?"

"Gentlemen, as much as I acknowledge the necessity of having this debate, perhaps we could postpone it till those four men charging towards us are dealt with?"

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

"I tol' you, 'm fi'e. Rea'y, da ball jus' graze' m' leg."

"You forgot to mention the hit to your head that you received when you fell from your horse."

"Oh thaaaaat? I'd almos' for'otte' abou' it u'til you me'tion', 'Thos."

"Your slurred words and d'Artagnan's now unsightly boots are telling an entirely different tale, my friend."

"St-stop shoutin'."

"No one's shouting, 'Mis. It's yer head."

"Whar o' m' 'ead? It's in its place, isn' it?"

"Aramis, stop squirming and let me see that wound, or I will have to order Porthos to knock you out."

"Uh...he just took a blow to his head, will it be wise- oww! What the hell, Porthos?!"

"Shut up and let Athos do the talking, whelp!"

"Stop. Moving. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Back in Gascony, my father once told me that doctors are the worst patients. Now I am adding medics to that list."

"The wound has definitely left a concussion but thankfully, it has stopped bleeding, so it shouldn't require any stitches for now. Pass me the water, Porthos."

" 'm not thi'sty."

"You're not drinking it. I am going to use it to clean your wound."

"Si'ce when're you da medic, 'Thos?"

"Since you decided to execute a breathtaking dive from your horse and began to talk like a drunk man after that."

"Drun'. Tha's right. You're da Drun'. I'm de Medic."

"Alright Aramis, now stay still. That is an order."

"Hate or- ouch! Tha' stung!"

"Porthos, hold him still. I can't clean the cut while he is wriggling so much."

"Is he always like this when he's hurt?"

"Nah, he ain't always so docile."

" _This_ is docile?"

"Oh, ya have no idea, pup. I remember that one time when his head was bashed a bit hard. He woke up shouting and thinking us the enemy. Started shooting at us."

"Sh-shooting?!"

"Yeah, shooting walnuts. Still had hi- ouch! My nose! Watch yer bloody head, Aramis!"

"I thought I asked you to hold him still? Why is everyone finding it so difficult to understand my instructions today?"

"He caught me by surprise!"

"If you focus your attention on the task instead of idle gossip, maybe he won't catch you by surprise. D'Artagnan, make yourself useful and get me the bandages from Aramis' saddle."

" 'R you done, 'Thos?"

"Yes, I've cleaned the cut and will bandage it for now. Show me your leg."

"Here's the bandages, Athos."

"Not that one. Your injured leg, Aram-"

* _WHACK_ _!_

* _THUD!_

"Oh my God, Athos! Are you all right? Let me see your chin."

"I am fine, d'Artagnan. His leg just caught me by surprise."

"See, I told ya!"

"Cut the bandages while I clean his leg. I want to get this done quickly and before he manages to accidentally maim one of us."

 _Ten minutes later:_

" 'M perfec'ly ca'able o' ridin', 'lone 'Thos."

"For the last time, Aramis, you have a concussion. There's no question of you riding alone."

"Señora doesn' like bein' 'lone, you know tha'."

"Señora is sensible. She will understand why her master has been forced to leave her."

"Pleaaaa-"

"That's enough, Aramis, don't test my patience. You can either ride with Porthos or remain standing here."

"Come on 'Mis, be a good boy. We're late already."

"Fine, 'elp m' up."

 _Half an hour later:_

"Your 'orse's goin' too fas', P'rth's."

"We're going ridiculously slow, 'Mis. It's yer head."

"How's my 'ead r'spo'sible for da pace o' your 'orse?"

"Dammit! Athos, I think next time ye really should hit him. And I'll give ya a bloody nose if ye try to interfere, d'Artagnan!"

"Dis jou'ney is bor-"

"ARAMIS!"

"DON'T!"

"NO!"

"Wha'? I was abou' to say tha' dis jou'ney is borderin' on drea'ful."

~OoO~

 **A/N: Aramis' mare is called Señora. What the heck? Don't even ask me where that came from.**

 **I'm no doctor, so I apologize for any glaring medical mistakes committed in this story.**

 **Oh, and in case you're wondering, I haven't abandoned my other work. Somebody just tell my muse to be a bit more cooperative.**


	2. Relax, It's Just A Bad Dream

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: Athos has a terrible nightmare.**

 **A/N: This is set sometime after S1. A special thanks to my beta,** **Venea** **Taur,** **not only for her beta reading, but also for encouraging me to post this little fic.**

 **WARNINGS: No warnings.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Musketeers.**

 **English is not my first language. All mistakes are mine.**

 **~OoO~**

 **2\. Relax, It's Just A Bad Dream.**

It was quiet in the portion of the Louvre where Athos stood guard outside the Queen's Chamber. The rooms outside which he kept vigil held the most precious possession of France- her future ruler and heir to the throne. Athos was fully aware of the enormity of his responsibility. Come hell or high water, he was prepared to deal with any kind of threat that might present itself.

The door behind him suddenly opened and the Musketeer turned around to find a teary-eyed Queen standing before him.

"Your Majesty, is there a problem?" Athos asked.

"The Dauphin," the Queen sobbed. "He is not in his crib. He is missing."

"What?! How?" Athos was shocked. He could swear on his commission that he hadn't seen anyone entering or leaving from the chambers.

"I do not know," Anne replied, sounding every bit as distressed as she looked.

Athos mentally kicked himself out of his shock and switched to his crisis management mode.

"I shall order an immediate and thorough search of the Palace and the grounds. Do not fret, Majesty. We will find the Prince," the Musketeer assured.

The following moments were a blur. The scenes shifted rapidly in front of his eyes, in lightning speed, and he only had a bare awareness of his own actions which included barking orders at faceless people and racing around the Palace.

Somehow, he found himself standing in the gardens, staring ahead at the endless maze of tall, neatly trimmed hedges.

"This is a disgrace, Lieutenant! How could you allow such a thing to happen?" Louis' indignant voice sounded from behind. Turning around, the Musketeer spotted the King stomping towards him. A step behind him was the Cardinal with a sickeningly smug expression spread over his narrow face.

"I have always warned Your Majesty of the incompetence of these Musketeers," Richelieu piped up. "Perhaps this unfortunate incident might have been avoided if Your Majesty had paid more heed to my advice."

Athos opened his mouth to speak but Louis beat him to it.

"No, Musketeer! I don't want to hear any excuses! Find my son right now or you will find your head on a spike for the whole of Paris to see! Oh, but you will be quite dead to wit-"

The abrupt break in Louis' rant was accompanied by Richelieu's face turning into a picture of _shock._

"Dear Lord!" was all the Cardinal managed.

Athos spun around to check the reason behind the collective stupefaction of the King and the First Minister.

And found himself mirroring their reaction.

Advancing towards them in tiny, wobbly steps was a toddler, apparently discovering the delights of being able to move on one's own two feet.

Which, in itself, should not have been anything out of the ordinary.

Except that said toddler had his little head rendered invisible by a large, brown hat graced with a handsome feather.

And...

Athos knew precious little about babies but the one thing he was damn sure of was that their nappies are never a deep shade of blue. And the cloth should most certainly _not_ resemble the sash that Aramis wears around his waist.

And of course, how could one miss the twin pistols at his sides, tucked inside the misplaced piece of cloth?

Athos stood transfixed.

Surely, this... _this_ wasn't happening, was it?

The bizarre little thing stopped right before him. As the child raised his head to regard the towering figure in front of him, the obnoxiously large headcover slipped backwards to reveal the mischievous, deep brown eyes in addition to the dark, tousled locks peeping out from beneath the hat.

The Musketeer's heart beat quickened as a roguish, lopsided grin took shape on the tiny face.

 _"Hola, tío Athos!"_

("Hello, Uncle Athos!")

The next thing Athos was aware of was hands grabbing him from behind. He thrashed against the powerful grips, but his struggles were in vain. Panic soon gave away to terror as the lovely gardens faded from his view and smooth, gloomy stone walls surrounded him.

His back hit the hard stone floor just as a scream broke free from him.

"NO! STOP!"

And those were just the things to bring him back to the world of the living.

It took the Musketeer several long moments to get his erratic breathing under control. And several more to register that the walls surrounding him were not of a dungeon but his own room at the Garrison. From his current position on the floor, he observed a sliver of light filtering through the tear on his blind. The voices of some of the early risers could be heard from the courtyard.

A throb behind his temples was steadily gaining on its intensity. Athos groaned and shut his eyes as his fingers massaged over the skin.

"I need another drink," he muttered sourly.

 **~OoO~**

 **A/N: Erm...hope you enjoyed it? This one was inspired by a fanart by** **sly** **-** **of** **-** **castelmore** **that I came across on Tumblr.**

 **Please review!**


	3. Déjà vu

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: For Aramis, things always follow an unsettling circle.**

 **A/N: The S1 E1 missing scene we all needed but realized it only after watching S1 E4. You know what I mean.**

 **WARNINGS: This work has descriptions of PTSD and survivor's guilt. So don't read if that makes you uncomfortable.**

 **D** **ISCLAIMER: I don't own 'The Musketeers' or any of its characters.**

 **English is not my first language and this fic is not beta read. All mistakes are mine.**

 **~OoO~**

 **3\. Déjà Vu**

He had been the one to spot them first.

Of course he had.

He would know, right? He would know better than most.

He has seen it happen, once. He would know the exact reason for those harbingers of death to flock together. For a long time, he had even believed himself to be a part of that macabre reason.

" _They shot them like animals and then ripped them off their uniforms."_

Marsac had ripped off his uniform.

He didn't even look back.

 _"Help us find them and we will get justice..."_

Justice?

It has been years since he came out of that cursed forest. Years. What justice has he been able to mete out to the perpetrators of the massacre? What peace could he assure his brothers' souls?

Instead, he has spent his time picking up silly barfights with the Cardinal's men, bedding women, fooling around on Porthos' birthdays, fussing and preening on his debonair appearances, bringing nothing but trouble at his commanding officer's doorstep.

 _"The lone survivor. The only one to return from the massacre where everyone else was butchered. Doesn't it make you wonder? Why him? Out of the twenty two, why **just him?** "_

Exactly.

For years, he has been asking God the same question.

 _Why just him?_

If not to punish those behind the deplorable act, why had he been spared? To spend the rest of his life living with the guilt of his failure? To have his presence felt like a cursed reminder to everyone about that doomed night? That night when death danced with abandon at their camp.

 _Twenty dead Musketeers._

Now Cornet and his men are also gone. Devoured by the snow and the forest and left for the ravens to lay claim over. Just like the others.

He could do nothing to save them.

Nothing.

Just like the others.

The birds always reached them before he could.

Just like Marsac walked away before he could reach him.

There was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing.

No justice.

No respite.

No peace.

No end.

"Aramis!"

"What?" his eyes immediately starts scanning the surroundings while his hand automatically goes for the pistol at his side.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! We're not in any danger," exclaims a familiar yet alarmed voice.

Porthos has the hand not gripping reins of his animal raised towards him to underscore his point. The young Gascon- d'Artagnan, he recalls- riding on the extreme left, is openly staring at him on the other hand.

"Then why..."

"I was trying to get your attention for some time. You were... not responding and a little distracted," Porthos says.

"You were talking to yourself," d'Artagnan blurts out, still staring wide-eyed at him.

Finding himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words, Aramis directs his gaze away from his companions. He feels his cheeks heating up even against the chilly breeze.

He can hear the horse trotting next to his move closer.

"Hey," Porthos whispers while resting a hand gently on his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Yes." The answer is prompt, almost reflexive.

When he looks up, he can see the skepticism, mixed with concern, written on his friend's face like an open book.

 _You can lie to me. But you can't fool me, brother._

"I know what's bothering you," the big Musketeer states.

Aramis sighs.

"It's... it's just...too..."

"Familiar?" his friend supplies.

He nods. "Why Porthos? Why does it keep happening?"

The grip on his shoulder tightens.

"Why?" he asks before looking away once again.

"You know I am not good at answering these questions. Especially if even you can't," he hears Porthos say.

He brings his gaze back on his brother. The rueful smile on his face tells it all.

 _But I will be there for you. For as long as you need me._

The reassurance that his brother will always be there to have his back changed something inside him.

Porthos will be there for him.

But right now, _they_ needed to be there for Athos.

"Trust me my friend, I shall be fine," Aramis tells his fellow Musketeer.

Porthos' answering gaze is piercing, searching for the slightest trace of feigned confidence in his friend.

He can point out the exact moment when Porthos is satisfied with his assessment. And when he nods, Aramis can see the the understanding and trust in his brother's eyes.

Sure, he has his issues.

But they are nothing he cannot handle for the sake of a brother.

 **~OoO~**

 **A/N: S** **orry that d'Artagnan got kinda sidelined. But at that point, he was more or less a stranger and wasn't privy to Aramis' problems, so it wouldn't have made any sense to include him in the conversation. I promise his fans to make it up in a future story. Just have a little patience :)**

 **My thanks to everyone who took their time to read this. Please let me know what you think!**


	4. A Child In A Man's Clothing

**CHAPTER SUMMARY: The Musketeers are held hostage by bandits but that is not the biggest worry for Aramis.**

 **A/N: A little Christmas gift for Luthien17 and Rita Marx. Hope you enjoy this :)**

 **WARNINGS: Don't go about looking for historical accuracy. There isn't any.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'The Musketeers' or any of its characters.**

 **English is not my first language and this work has not been beta read. So proceed at your own risk.**

 **~OoO~**

 **4\. A Child In A Man's Clothing.**

"This is all your fault."

"Really, Aramis?"

"Really, d'Artagnan."

"If my memory serves me right, the four of us are locked in this hellhole because _you_ gave away our position to the highwaymen by jumping down from the tree, like a baboon scratching itself with abandon."

"Na, 'Mis was lookin' more like a ballerina wit' ants stuck in the dress."

"I'll have you imbeciles know that it really were those vermins responsible for my fall from grace... I mean, the tree."

"Well, wha' did ya expect while stuffin' yer coat pockets with half a warehouse of toffees?*"

"A necessary action, if I needed to prevent d'Artagnan and his predatory mouth from ransacking my saddle bags of my hard-gained treasure. So you see now why I was blaming d'Artagnan for our predicament?"

"What gives you more right over those toffees than any of us?"

"You forget, d'Artagnan, that it was my unique and irresistible charm that secured us those confectioneries."

"Yeah, I bet ya had to _sweat_ it out of the confectiner's daughter."

"Erm...in a way, you can say that, Porthos."

"B..but what happened to the Musketeer motto? 'One for All'?"

"I was actually living up to the spirit of 'All for One' in that case."

"Pity it was all for nothin'. The bandits plundered yer stash anyway."

"I swear to God when I get my hands-"

"Shut up! All of you!"

"Seriously, Athos? Are you so insensitive towards the agony in my heart?"

"For heaven's sake Aramis, here we are at the mercy of bandits in the middle of God knows where, our lives hanging by a thread and you expect me to mourn the loss of your sweet delicacies?!"

"I wonder what those highwaymen want from us."

"Isn't it obvious d'Artagnan? Our captors want to play ring around the rosie with us."

"Thanks, Aramis. That's so not amusing."

"Ha! Can any of ya imagine Athos playin' ring aroun' the rosie?"

"Yes, I can. It would be an incredible sight to behold as there would be elephants flying and pigs raining from the heavens around him."

"But thanks to your stupidity, none of us will live long enough to see that day."

"Are you done, Porthos? I will go stark mad if I listen to their puerile exchange a moment longer."

"See you in a loonie house, Athos."

"You and Aramis make me feel like I am already in one."

"Don't worry, I'm almos' there, mate. Our hare-brained brothers won't put a dent on yer precious sanity. Not today."

 _*CLICK!_

"Ha! Didn't I tell ya all tha' my baby never fails me?"

"Please hurry up, Porthos! There still might be some of those toffees left."

"..."

"..."

"I am not a man given to superstition but for the past five years, I have been often left to wonder if some sorcerer has indeed trapped a three-year-old inside your body."

 _Several hours later, on the way to Paris:_

"Will you stop doing that?"

"Stop what, Athos?"

"Sulking."

"Oh, so you are the sole person entitled to be grumpy?"

"Whe' Athos sulks, he does it like a proper, grown-up man, usually whe' he's drunk half the bar dry the last night. You're lookin' like a tot who's lost his favorite sweet, 'Mis."

"Yo..you...How dare you add insult to my injury?!"

"Then stop looking like someone has died."

"You are an insufferable, heartless lot. I am going to scout the area ahead."

 _A minute later:_

"Athos?"

"Yes, d'Artagnan?"

"Did you...?"

"Hmm... safe inside my saddle bag. I wonder why he never noticed."

"Should you not tell him then?"

"Eventually. After we have helped ourselves to some of these confectioneries, I will of course hand over the rest to him."

"He's gonna be mighty displeased abou' it."

"Can I have one now?"

"You are not much better than Aramis. Hold on... what? How can..."

"Wha' happened?"

"This... How can those just vanish? Wait...this bag is _not_ mine."

"The 'ell do ya mean?"

"He tricked me! He _tricked_ me!"

"Well...damn."

 _On the other hand:_

"*CHOMP* Mmmmmm. *CHOMP* Idio'sh *CHOMPCHOMPCHOMP* wa'thed tho *CHOMP* foo' me."**

 **~OoO~**

 **A/N: *Yes, yes I know it will be another 170+ years before toffee makes an appearance but I'm gonna pull out my artistic license for that ;)**

 ****Translation (Because it can be a tad difficult to read): "Idiots wanted to fool me."**

 **Thanks for reading! Have a Merry Christmas everyone!**


End file.
